


Just Skin, Just Bones

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Angst, Drama, M/M, Other: See Story Notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 10:31:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/797454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes love can be a burden, and the perversion of love can destroy us all.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Skin, Just Bones

## Just Skin, Just Bones

#### by alee gothphyle

Author's website: <http://hernes-daughter.livejournal.com>  
Not my characters, not my royalties.  
Written for the "Blow It With Feeling" challenge.   
Author's Notes: Defilement: 1. pollute, soil, taint; 2. deflower, force, outrage, ravish, spoil, violate; 3. besmear, discolor, smear, stain, sully, tar, tarnish. To befoul, profane, or desecrate   
  
Warnings: Possible non-con depending on your sensibilities, and definitely potential to offend.   
  
This story is a sequel to: 

* * *

There was no force in this, no rape. Just the regular, insidious desecration that time never healed and the sun never burned away. Bitter laughter welled, bitterer thoughts corroded his soul, and strains of an abandoned childhood religion ran through his mind. _The sun shall not smite thee by day, nor the moon by night._ No golden rays to blister and scorch, no perfect, cool moonbeams to knife through the stillness of his rest. Only this, the foul love that he ravished nightly from an unresisting form. 

Jim was sprawled before him, his face lax in the flickering glow of the candlelight. His forehead was smooth and untroubled, no restless flicker beneath his eyelids marked this violation. As always, his lips parted softly, sighing into the night in what could only be pleasure. What Blair had to believe was pleasure. And whether it was truth or self-delusion, it was far too late to stop now, to suffer this pang of conscience. It always was. 

"Blair..." 

One word, whispered in the darkness. Heard? Imagined? It didn't matter, its fleeting sound too soft for pain, or fear. Or love, really, desire having no form in its syllable. But if he could hear his name, breathed through lips long slack and pale, then this fantasy of consent was no stretch. 

He stared, willing Jim's eyes to open, but found only the still, pale perfection of a living statue. And why did his eyes water, his breath catch, this lump rise in his throat as his heart constricted? Enough time had passed to ease this ache, to accept this truth, yet still it stabbed at him. 

_Please, now._

He smiled, eyes clouding as he obeyed. Firm fingers traced the swells and planes of Jim's chest, dipping between ribs grown sharp and bold. Nipples tensed beneath his thumbs, rising to meet his touch. He leaned forward, hair trailing over Jim's shoulders. Licking, suckling, nuzzling, he let the faint flavor of Ivory soap drift over his tongue, searching for the taste beneath. It was fainter each time, what Jim used to be washed away, fading more with each slumberous day. 

_Don't tease._

He bit down, tongue laving the flesh as it swelled between his lips. Saliva drooled thick and hot beneath his chin, slippery, his chin gliding against Jim's skin with every movement of his tongue. This tainted bliss filled him, seductive and enslaving. 

_Oh, yes. Just like that. More._

A final lick, and he moved downward, mouth sliding wet and hot across Jim's ribs. One. Two. Three. Count them all, a ritual proof of life measuring all that he sought to deny. His tongue could map them all now, paint the bitter truth in stark relief. Around the last one, a slow, deliberate press of lips and fingers, and he rested his face against Jim's abdomen. 

He closed his eyes for a moment, weary tears seeping under his lashes to pool in the hollow of Jim's navel, stretched thin and shallow beneath his cheek. He cradled Jim's hips, palms curving over tendons and bones. 

_It's just skin, Chief, just bones. Nothing that matters. Nothing that's real._

"I know, Jim, but..." 

_It doesn't matter._

"It still hurts." 

Whispers, doubts, fantasies. What his nights had become. What his life had become. Was it madness or delusion? The fevered longings of a mind not ready to let go, to accept? Or was it something worse, the tarnished creation of a soul too stained by its own perversion to ever wash clean? He wondered if it even mattered. 

_This_ was his reality, the tomb of his own making. 

Tomb. He stifled a laugh, teetering on the edge of hysteria. Was this his future, then? The only card Fate had dealt him? Would he stay here, locked in this vicious circle, his own life fading with Jim's, smeared into each other like the rot of decaying flesh until they were truly one? 

_Stop worrying Chief. Things work out._

He sobbed, fingers tightening on Jim's hips, bruising the fragile skin. He felt the stirring against his chest, the tightening swell of Jim's cock. The flesh was willing, always willing, even if the soul was weak. No, the soul was _gone_. 

_I'm right here, Blair._

"No, you're not," broken words, buried, muffled in his throat as much as against Jim. "You're not here, and I'm... I'm alone." 

*I'm here. I need.* 

"I know, Jim. I know what you need. What we both need." 

No other choice, really his own needs driving him as surely as the phantom voice whispering in his head. He closed his lips around the head of Jim's cock, coaxing full arousal into the shaft as he worked his tongue and throat around the tip. There was a rhythm in this, a slow, steady pace he could never maintain with Jim writhing beneath him, hands gripping Blair's hair in frantic ecstasy while his hips bucked in response. But now, with Jim lying quiet and quiescent, there was nothing to alter, to interfere. Quick, quick, slow. The one-two-three pattern that he breathed through, timed by the quivers beneath his tongue. Soon, now, the swelling against the roof of his mouth heralding the end as surely as the pulse throbbing against his tongue. Deep breath, and rapid swallowing, the taste of Jim slicking bitter and hot down his throat, his own cock tightening in appreciation. All he had left, and too sweet a shame to feel any regret here in the dark, where the stark light of day dared not intrude. 

He waited, tongue lapping at Jim's softening cock, straining to hear, to see. But there was nothing. Just the slight hitch in Jim's breathing, and a deceptive flush of color in the high, pale cheeks. No awakening for his sleeping prince this night, just the maddening sameness of a body slowly shutting down, a mind long fled, a zone too deep for return. In his heart, he knew there would never be a dawn for this slumber. 

"I'm sorry, Jim. I know that you... God!" He sobbed, weeping his heartache into Jim's lax arms. 

_Shhh, Blair. Nothing to be sorry for. Like I said, it's just skin. Nothing that matters. Nothing that lasts._

"Nothing lasts. Not even this." Not even the perversion of love that was all he had left. Jim faded more each day, and soon he would have nothing. Not the cold touch of chilling flesh, or the haunting strains of almost-heard words to sully his thoughts with obscene mimicry. 

_Some things last, Blair. You'll see._

"Is that a threat, or a promise?" 

_You'll see._

"Soon, Jim, let it be soon." 

He fell into an uneasy sleep, dreams of skinless panthers and a misshapen wolf discoloring his restless slumber. Soon. It had to be soon. One way or the other. 

* * *

End 

Just Skin, Just Bones by alee gothphyle: gothphyle@alltel.net  
Author and story notes above.

Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


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